


I'm Not Standing Still

by DeathSquiggles



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, M/M, Rating May Change, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathSquiggles/pseuds/DeathSquiggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray is brought on by the infamous Geoff Ramsey to be a part of his Fake AH Crew. His first day on the job, he hears the words that have been tattooed on his right forearm since he turned sixteen years old. Except, the guy who said them doesn't seem to want much of anything to do with him at all.</p><p>GTA Universe + 'First words tattoo' Soulmate AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A guy in a black skull mask emerges from the hallway and regards Ray for a moment before speaking.

“You’re the new hire, huh?”

The reply is on his lips before he thinks about what he just heard.

“Yep, I’m bringing the Puerto Rican thunder.”

And then his arm starts burning, right where neat black print has been sitting on his skin since the second he turned sixteen years old.

But the man in the mask? He doesn’t flinch, stiffen, or give any kind of indication that Ray’s response are the words he’s been waiting to hear for years. This must be the wrong guy, is all. His words could come from anyone, but the words he said to the mask guy? Not so much.

He tries not to let the disappointment show on his face.

“Where’d you get that Diet Coke?”

Skull mask is pointing at the can Ray’s holding. He’s been taking swigs every few minutes to ease his nerves.

“Uh, the fridge,” Ray replies. “I’m waiting for Geoff. He told me to help myself to…” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the kitchen.

The man nods. Ray turns his attention back to his phone, but he knows it’s only going to be a few seconds before he gets bored of the same ten posts that he’s already read fifty times since he got here. He tries to focus on not letting his hands twitch. He’s more than used to sitting in one place for hours at a time without being able to move, for one reason or another. Such is the life of a sniper. But when he has to sit still, he usually has his rifle sitting in his arms, and a scope to peer through. Here, in the living room of one of the most expensive penthouses in the city, all he has is the weight of his sidearm tucked into his jeans and a nervous fidget in his fingers that simply refuses to be suppressed.

How long is he going to make Ray _wait_? He’s started another nervous rhythm against his thigh. Partway through the arc of swinging the can back up to his mouth, something interrupts him. A hand with a vice grip jerks his arm back. By the time Ray’s instinctive reaction- Fight your way out and run- has kicked in, the mask guy has ripped the can from his hand and released him, backing away a few steps. Probably anticipated Ray’s response, which is him standing up so suddenly that the little kitchen stool he was seated on is sent flying backwards, and pointing his sidearm at the dude’s head.

He seems unperturbed by this. Just stares at Ray through the shadowy eyeholes of the mask, holding the can against his chest like he’s trying to protect it, or something.

A door shuts. Ray is snapped out of his trance and instantly lowers his weapon when he realizes who has entered the room. Geoff Ramsey, his brand new boss, fixes the mask guy with a very unimpressed look.

“Ryan.” He says. “Why is the new guy pointing a gun at you?”

 _Was_ , Ray wants to correct. He settles for tucking the gun back into his waistband and carefully watching skull mask. “He drank my Diet Coke.” Skull mask points at Ray. Er, guess his name is Ryan? It doesn’t fit. The dude is wide and imposing enough on his own, but the leather jacket and full head mask really make having a name like _Ryan_ seem ridiculous and out of place. Like, watch out for the new world-dominating threat, _Steve from Accounting_.

“Dude. I’ll buy you more. Don’t assault the new hire.”

Ryan shrugs lamely and lowers his arms to his sides. He’s still holding the can. Geoff turns his gaze to Ray, and he realizes that his boss just walked in on him pointing a firearm at another employee. At least, he thinks that’s what Ryan is? It’s that, or Geoff is into weird kinky gimp stuff.

“Sorry about that. Ryan’s touchy about his soft drinks.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Still, the tension doesn’t leave Ray’s shoulders. “Come on, lemme show you the briefing room.”

 

\---

 

After the meeting, Geoff insisted on treating Ray to pizza. Seconds after they send some sweaty teen off with a tenner, a door in the hall opens and shuts, and two unfamiliar men emerge into the main living space.

“Pizza!” One cries. Ray notes his British inflection and almost comically large nose.

“Yay, grub!” The other cheers. This one is slightly familiar to Ray; he’s pretty sure he’s seen those russet curls and dark eyes before, somewhere. Probably heard of him through the vine. Ray thinks his specialty might be explosives, or something? Whatever. If it’s important, Geoff or someone will tell him.

The British one is practically climbing up Geoff’s side in his attempts to reach the boxes, which Geoff is now holding high above his head. Their struggle ends when the British one hops up and gets a grip on one and tears it from Geoff’s grasp, immediately running off into the dining area with it. “Cocksucker!” Geoff calls after him.

The second man seems to notice Ray. “Oh, hey,” he says. “Are you the new guy?”

Ray nods. There’s retching from the other room.

“Anchovies?!” The British one yells. Ray almost snorts with how offended he sounds.

“That’s right! Get the fuck away from my pizza, you prick!” Geoff yells, then turns his attention back to Ray and the other man. “Michael, this is Ray, our new sniper. Ray, this is Michael.”

Ray shakes Michael’s hand. He catches a flash of white lettering on Michael’s forearm. Already met his soulmate, then. “I’m the explosive guy. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, man.” Ray replies.

The British one barrels back into the room and Michael releases Ray’s hand to snag him by the hoodie. “Gavin, this is the new sniper.” He cocks his head toward Ray.

The British- Gavin. Gavin looks him up and down and shoots Michael a look like he’s trying to figure out if he’s being fucked with. “This guy? He’s a kid!”

“Hey,” Ray protests automatically. “I’m twenty-two.”

Gavin snorts. Michael gently whaps him on the back of the head, and Gavin immediately returns the gesture. A slap war breaks out. Then, they’re grappling. And then, they’re on the floor, full-on wrestling.

Geoff sighs. “Come on, let’s go eat this shit before it gets cold.”

Ray is eager to accept his offer. This place is fucking weird.

 

\---

 

They’re joined at the table a few minutes into the meal by a tall man with an impressive beard who doesn’t so much as look at Ray until he has half a slice shoved in his mouth. After taking a few seconds to chew, the man turns his head to meet Ray’s eyes and smiles warmly at him. He introduces himself as Jack.

Ray knows who Jack is. Geoff Motherfucking Ramsey’s second and co-runner of the entirety of Southern California? Yeah. He knows him. Still, Ray shakes his hand at an awkward angle over the table and says his name back, like he’s supposed to.

“The new sniper?” Jack asks, but he’s looking at Geoff, not Ray. Ray thinks that’s a good thing, if the ever-so-slight irritation lacing his voice and eyes is anything to go by.

“Jeremy followed him on his last few jobs. Says he hit his target through a moving car’s open window from 1500 yards away.”

Ray had figured out that the guy was one of Ramsey’s men right away. Otherwise, he would have shot him one of the many times Ray caught sight of him in a doorway, walking the same way at a street light, standing casual as can be across the road. He’s tempted to advise Geoff on who to choose for tailing missions- it was the guy’s short stature that gave away his repeated presence- but he decides to hold his tongue. For now.

Jack seems distracted by Geoff’s claim. It’s true, except the distance was more like 1800 yards. Not record sniping, but hey, it got the job done. “That’s fucking insane,” he says, turning back to Ray. “Who the hell taught you to shoot?”

Ray shrugs and studies his hands. Not a story he’ll be telling tonight. After a few awkward seconds, Geoff mercifully clears his throat and changes the topic. “Were Michael and Gavin making out in there when you came in?” He cocks his head back toward the living area.

Ray’s about to laugh at the idea when he sees Jack grimly nodding. “Gavin’s pants were halfway down and Michael’s shirt was nowhere to be seen. I kicked them back to their room.”

“Literally, I hope,” Geoff mutters. “They’ve already got two strikes for fucking on my floor.”

As if on cue, the two enter the dining room looking equal parts dishevelled and blissfully satisfied. This time, Michael’s wearing only a fitted t-shirt instead of his zip up hoodie from earlier, which Gavin is now adorned with. It’s funny, because Michael’s shorter, so the sleeves end before reaching his wrist. In spite of this, the main body still hangs off of his frame loosely.

Gavin looks smug as hell as he helps himself to some pepperoni and plops down at the table. Michael just seems relaxed as he follows suit.

“I am _this_ goddamn close,” Geoff says, holding two fingers with maybe an inch between them, “to banning foreplay in the livingroom. Do not test my patience.”

Gavin sticks his tongue out. “You’re just mad because you can’t get it up without old man pills.”

Geoff goes red. Ray’s not sure if it’s embarrassment or anger. All he knows is that this place is really, really _fucking strange._ “Oh, I’m sorry, what was that? I’m pretty sure you’re the one who came and cried on me for two hours last month because you accidentally took one too many benadryl and thought your dick was going to fall off.”

Now it’s Gavin’s turn to flush. He looks at Michael, as if beckoning him to come to his defense. Michael only laughs at him and steals a piece of mushroom from his slice.

Jack apparently picks up on his discomfort. “Sorry, Ray. We’re not usually this…” He trails off, looking around him. “Okay, actually, we are usually this fucking idiotic. But you’re a part of it now, so, congratulations.”

He’s first appreciative of the apology, then immediately resentful when all of the attention falls back on him. Gavin perks up like he just saw a new toy at the bottom of the bin and leans forward with his elbows planted on the table. “That’s right! Roy! The new guy!”

“Ray,” he corrects.

“Ah, like X-Ray! Do people ever call you that?”

“X-Ray? No.”

Gavin grins. “New nickname!”

Ray rolls his eyes. “Yeah, let’s see if that sticks.”

Jack is shooting him an apologetic look, and suddenly all of Ray’s confidence that this ‘new nickname’ will be forgotten along with his real name the next time Gavin gets laid fades away. Or, did he even really know that it’s the fucking that made him mix up the name in the first place? Frankly, he’d rather he didn’t know that they had fucked at all, but beggars can’t exactly be choosers.

But, then again, Ray’s hardly a beggar. “Are you guys always this open about banging dudes?”

He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. There are suddenly four sharp gazes trained on him. Each belongs to a man who knows a hundred ways or more to kill him with their bare hands, and he has no doubt that at least two of them are armed right now. His little pistol will do nothing against four men in close proximity. This is why he is a sniper; he can handle himself in close combat, but if he’s faced with more than one opponent at a time, he knows he’s in trouble. From a distance, he can take out any threat with ease and never have a single hair on his head disturbed.

Geoff not-so-gently tosses his pizza back onto his plate and crosses his arms. “You got a _problem_ with us banging guys?”

Jesus, Ray’s heart is beating fast, now. “No,” he chokes out. “No, of course not. That was- Not the best choice of words. My bad.” Jack, Michael and Gavin seem to relax somewhat, but Geoff remains stiff and unnervingly cold.

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” Ray doesn’t have to think long about pulling out the best piece of evidence he has. “I’m gay, so that would be pretty fucking dumb.”

Geoff peers at him for another four seconds, then completely relaxes and goes back to munching on his pizza. Ray lets out his breath slowly and internally berates himself for making such a careless comment.

He thinks this topic is passed until Gavin drags it back. “You’ve met your soulmate?” He asks. It’s actually pretty common for people to realize they’re gay after meeting their soulmate and finding that they’re the same gender, but that’s definitely not how it went for Ray. No, he did things the traditional way- looking too long at Calvin Klein ads, watching sports with rapt attention even though the activities bore him, and finally listing his symptoms to google and spending a week watching as much gay porn as he possibly could to make up for lost time.

Ray shakes his head. “Still waiting.”

It’s kind of rude to continue pushing him, but Gavin doesn’t seem too concerned about manners. “What are your words?”

“Gavin,” Michael smacks his arm. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Oh, right. Here, look at mine!” Ray finds a pasty arm thrust into his face.

In neat white block print are the words ‘ _That’s not my name, nose guy._ ’

His confusion must show on his face, because Michael rolls his eyes and presents his own arm for Ray to read.

_‘Nice to meet you, explosives guy.'_

“Michael has to make up for being mean to me for the rest of our lives!” Gavin’s smug smile has returned.

“Like hell I do. And besides, that doesn’t give you the right to go around prying about other people’s soulmates, shithead.” Michael says, but he’s smiling, too.

“No,” Ray interjects before Gavin can begin his indignant reply. “No, it’s fine. Doesn’t bother me. I’ve never gotten why some people are so touchy about it.” He rolls up his sleeve and sets his arm on the table, watching their faces so he can judge when they’ve finished reading.

Only, they both look confused. So do Geoff and Jack, who are leaning around the two so they can read. “Ray,” Jack says carefully. “Didn’t you say you haven’t met your soulmate?”

“Yeah?” Ray looks down at his arm and instantly understands why he asked. In one moment, it’s as if all of the breath has been ripped from his lungs and his heart has stopped beating.

The same print that almost everyone has adorns his skin in pearly white. _‘_ _You’re the new hire, huh?'_

White.

It’s _white_.

“Fuck.” Ray lets the word slip before he can regain his composure. He tries to convince himself to withdraw his arm, to push his sleeve back down and escape until he can sort through what this means, but all he does is sit and stare blankly at those familiar words, now suddenly so alien to him.

“Did you not… hear them?” Geoff asks.

“No, I did,” Ray replies almost dreamily.

“Then why did you think you hadn’t met them?”

“Because,” Drawls a deep voice from the door. Ryan is leaning against the frame, regarding them all through his mask. “When I said them, he didn’t bother checking.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been five minutes, and Geoff is still laughing. Even with Jack helpfully smacking his back and trying to get him to breathe, Geoff’s gone practically blue; he lost his shit about five seconds after Ryan started speaking and has yet to even try to find it. In the meantime, Ryan has taken the seat directly across from Ray and is sitting silently, watching. It’s creepy as fuck.

“Uh, why didn’t you say anything?” Ray finally works up the nerve to ask.

Ryan crosses his arms, still covered by the dark leather of his jacket sleeves. “You’re directly responsible for me having the phrase ‘Puerto Rican thunder’ permanently on my body. Also, you drank my Diet Coke.”

If Geoff was starting to calm down, that’s certainly been brought to a screeching halt. A whole new wave of laughter has hit him, and this time, the other three end up joining in. At least Jack looks a bit guilty as he stifles his giggles, but Gavin and Michael don’t really seem like they give a single shit. Ray wonders who exactly they’re laughing at.

Geoff gets it together enough to tell Ryan to show Ray to the guest room. Maybe it’s because Ryan is the only one in the room besides Ray who isn’t laughing, or maybe it’s because if the whole “soulmates” business. Either way, his hands twitch nervously at his side the whole way down the hall.

Behind one of many identical interspersed doors is a plain room with a bed, dresser, and flat screen mounted on the wall. The window is covered by dark curtains, probably designed to cancel noise as well as light. Ray can’t help but take note of how thick and heavy the door is; maybe a security measure? He’s not sure. Tucked off to the side is the door to an ensuite with toilet and shower. Resting beside the plain dresser is his bag of clothes and supplies. Ray sits on the bed to test the mattress and thanks Ryan. He finds himself calling Ryan’s name when he turns to leave.

“Yes?” He asks.

“I just…” Ray scratches the back of his neck. Ryan’s supposed to be his  _ soulmate _ . That’s a big deal. Right? “What, uh- What do you do? For Geoff, I mean.”

Ryan pauses for a moment before answering. “I’m part of the main circle. I do whatever Geoff needs me to do.”

“But before that? Before this crew?”

“Assassin. I took contracts across the country.”

“What’s with the mask?” He’s been curious all day. Ray knows better than to ask him to remove it; Geoff and the others didn’t express any sort of surprise that he was wearing it, so he has to believe this is commonplace. Waltzing in on a core member of the infamous Fake AH Crew and asking him to take his mask off just because he has the first words you said to him tattooed on his arm doesn’t seem like the best strategy.

Still, Ryan stiffens, seems ready to back out of the room without responding at all. But the words do come, eventually. “It’s a precaution.” Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

And the second the door clicks shut, it hits Ray just how tired he is. He’s been in Los Santos for around a week, bouncing from shitty motels after one night and taking a job or two to fill his time waiting for Geoff’s formal offer, then subsequent introduction and induction. He’s in the crew, now, and tomorrow is sure to be a busy day, but this week has been nothing short of exhausting, and the bed is soft and just the right amount of springy. It’s pure muscle memory and routine that drives Ray to bother with stripping to his undershirt and boxers, brushing his teeth, placing his glasses gingerly on the nightstand. He’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

 

\---

 

He wakes up and isn’t sure where he is. It’s dark, but he feels groggy as fuck, so he must have slept well through the night and probably the morning, as well. Something, some back instinct of his mind calms him and keeps him from bolting up and locating his sidearm. A few minutes of confusion later and he works out that he’s in a penthouse in the middle of downtown LS and it’s only as dark as night because of the curtains blocking out every ray of sunlight.

Hah. Every  _ ray. _

He pulls them open and soaks in the blurry skyline, trying to figure out what’s nagging at him. It’s like he’s forgetting something. Ray shrugs it off, retrieves his glasses, grabs a clean set of clothes and heads for the bathroom to shower. He shouldn’t be expecting any less, but the shower is magnificent. Great water pressure, temperature control, and a little metal tree with some high quality if generic brands of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He makes a mental note to thank Geoff for putting him up until he can find a permanent place in the city.

Ray realizes what he’s forgotten when he’s rinsing the soap off of his arms and notices again the white words on his forearm. That’s right. He met his soulmate last night. And the dude was nothing but salty, over a can of diet soda. Well, that and the fact that Ray has marred him forever with something stupid on his skin. There have been many cases of people trying to get their words removed after a bad breakup or even rejection of the concept entirely, but nothing has been proven to work; it’s not actually ink, so regular tattoo removal is useless. Removing all of the skin doesn’t work, because it just grows back with the new stuff. In the cases of amputees, the words just reappeared as close to their original location as they could. On the arm stump, or the shoulder, or running down the side of the torso. There is no escaping the words.

Ryan’s been dealing with his for probably a decade or more- Ray’s not entirely sure how old he is, especially since he covers his face. That must have been a fun sweet sixteen, though. He’ll have to ask for the story some time.

He leaves his room and finds a bustle of activity. Geoff is standing in front of the stove with several burners going at once and an array of bowls, some empty, some dirty, some filled with mysterious liquids, scattered on the counters around him. Gavin and Michael are perched at the counter watching him work. In the dining room, Jack sits reading on his phone, accompanied by a man and two women that Ray hasn’t met. Wait- No, he recognizes the man. He’s the one that they sent to tail him on his last few jobs- Jeremy, he thinks his name is? Ray almost didn’t recognize him without the clue of his height. Quietly, he takes an empty seat at the table and tries not to let himself wonder where Ryan is.

Jack glances up and waves at him. The two women are deeply engaged in conversation and don’t notice his presence, and Jeremy is listening intently.

“No, I’m telling you, every episode of Spongebob is a different universe. Think about the salads!”

“What fucking salads?”

“In one episode, Mr. Krabs has a salad bar in the Krusty Krab, right? But then, later on, when Pearl makes over the restaurant, Spongebob acts like he’s never seen a salad before.”

“That’s just a continuity error.”

“Or, it’s a hidden piece of evidence pointing to the real truth that the government doesn’t want us to know!”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to accept that on the basis of  _ salad!” _

“Didn’t all of them get blown up, like, on multiple occasions?” Ray says. Three heads turn to face him. Jeremy clearly recognizes him, but the other two look clueless.

Jack steps in. “Guys, this is Ray, the new sniper.”

“Oh!” The red haired one, arguing in favor of the multiverse, perks up and smiles brightly at him. “I’m Lindsay.”

The purple haired one beside her adjusts her glasses. “I’m Meg. And I’m still not sold on this multiple universe thing. It’s a cartoon show, I really doubt they put that much thought into it!”

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Jeremy finally enters the conversation. “Maybe we’re occupying only one of an infinite number of universes. Maybe, in some other world, we all sit around a room and play videogames together, and that’s our job.”

“That’s fucking stupid.” Jack says without looking up from his phone. Meg and Lindsay snicker. Jeremy seems to brush it off pretty quickly, if his shrug and small smile are anything to go by.

“So,” Meg says, leaning forward on her elbows, much like Gavin had the night before. “I hear you met your soulmate last night.”

It’s not a question. “I did.”

Meg has a sly smile that makes Ray wonder if he’s in trouble. “Ryan’s a real sweetie, when you get to know him. Once he’s done throwing a tantrum you guys’ll be an item in no time at all.”

A tantrum? Is that why he’s not at the table? Ray doesn’t know, but he still hasn’t quite worked through his feelings about this, so he decides to change the topic before things get too intense. Luckily, he doesn’t have to; Geoff calls out that breakfast is ready, and Gavin darts up from his chair and immediately gets his foot tangled in the legs of the stool, sending him and it tumbling to the ground. Michael doesn’t bother helping him up, but just sits and laughs until tears are flowing from his eyes. Ray scoots around him and is handed a plate by Geoff, who Ray now notices is wearing an apron that reads ‘I’m the Boss’ in looping pink letters.

There’s so much food laid out on the counters that Ray’s overwhelmed for a moment. Then, the scents hit him, and he’s piling his plate high and stuffing his face in seconds. The others sitting around the table are chatting while they eat. Ray doesn’t hear any of it. There is only him and this orgasmic plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, toasted English muffins spread with thick blackberry jam, and a side of fresh squeezed orange juice. His stomach is seriously complaining by the time he polishes off his last piece of sausage. Ray notices Michael watching him with an amused expression while Gavin rattles on about something he can’t make out through the mouthful of food muffling his words.

“Geoff’s a master cook. Be careful, or you’ll gain twenty pounds in two weeks.”

Meg groans. Ray notices that she has carefully controlled portions sectioned off cleanly on her plate. “Seriously, he’s not kidding about that.”

The group chats idly about celebrity drama, sports teams, and another (much smaller) crew in the north foolishly trying to make moves on Fake AH territory. Ray doesn’t have much to contribute to these conversations, so he mostly keeps his mouth shut and laughs whenever someone makes a joke, usually at the expense of another person at the table. Never Ray, though. Seems they’re all still trying to size him up, and aren’t quite ready to risk seriously pissing him off.

After breakfast, Ray’s pulled along with the rest of the group into a different meeting room from the one he was in with Geoff last night. This one is much larger, and has a long glass table with at least fifteen chairs lining each side. Maps are plastered all over the walls. Some are clean, others have a few pins stuck in, and some are completely ragged and torn from use. Geoff takes the head of the table, with Jack on his right and Gavin on his left. The rest of the seats fill in- two of them are taken by yet more unfamiliar faces who must have slipped in with the other crowd- and Ray chooses one of the edges as far from Geoff as he can get, landing next to Meg and across from an empty seat.

Geoff looks around once everyone is settled, but doesn’t call for the stray conversations to end. The relaxed ease that usually settles his features melts into something more tense and uncertain. He keeps looking at his phone, then the door, like he’s… Waiting.  _ He’s waiting for Ryan, _ Ray realizes. He wasn’t at breakfast, but Ray had simply chalked this up to him being unwilling to remove his mask to eat. Is he avoiding the meeting?

Is he avoiding Ray?

Geoff leans and murmurs something into Jack’s ear. Ray’s much too far to catch it, and even if he weren’t, the din of the room would surely cover it anyway. Jack pulls out his phone and starts furiously tapping on it.

A few moments later, the door swings open. All conversations screech to a halt at the sharp intake of breath by the newcomer.

Ryan is very clearly staring at Ray. His fingers start tapping his thigh again under the table.  _ Under Ryan’s scrutiny. _ He just stands there for several moments, breathing and watching and saying nothing. Finally, he speaks.

“First my soda, and now my seat?”

Ray is confused. Then he catches Meg quickly covering her smirk with her hand and looking away, and he realizes he must be sitting in Ryan’s spot. What the hell? Why hadn’t she told him? He makes to get up, but Geoff’s voice halts him.

“Ryan, stop being a baby. Just go sit over there.” He gestures to the empty seat across from Ray.

Ryan remains still, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, before finally stalking to the seat and sitting down much more forcefully than is probably necessary.

Ray’s caught between wondering what this guy’s fucking problem is and wanting to do something,  _ anything _ to appease him. He might be overreacting a little, sure, but Ray certainly wouldn’t be happy if some random kid showed up and started drinking his soda and taking his spot. He would be especially unhappy if his boss instantly took the kid’s side and made him give up things that are clearly kind of important to him.

He can’t wonder long, because Geoff starts the meeting, and he pays rapt attention to make sure he doesn’t miss a single detail.

 

\---

 

The new faces belong to Matt Bragg and Kdin Jenzen, both of whom play supporting roles in the main circle, taking care of running minor tasks and generally managing the upkeep of the crew. Decisions and directions of course go to Geoff, but Matt and Kdin keep things running while Geoff is otherwise occupied. They bring thick pads filled with scrawlings that they add to constantly throughout the meeting.

Meg is apparently their main information person; she connects her phone to a projector that slides out of the ceiling and takes them through the basics of a bank in southwest LS that will apparently be hit at a later date- floor plan, guard routines, security system, the works. Earlier in his career, Ray took some jobs helping crews run heists. They weren’t really his favorite work; the crews that hired him were generally untrustworthy and sometimes dangerously stupid. He almost got killed on the last heist he went on when another team member made a foolish mistake that led to cops surrounding the shit small town bank they were hitting,  which is when he decided to only take solo jobs from that point on. He gets the feeling that Geoff’s meticulous inner circle would never even dream of making such a mistake, and, even if they did, he can tell from the affection in Geoff’s gaze as he looks around the room that the Fake AH wouldn’t abandon one of their own wounded in front of the police firing line.

Lindsay also gathers info, but mostly on other crews, and what the local PD is up to. It comes as no surprise to Ray that she has not a couple but several dirty cops on the inside willing to let things slide and help out in a pinch. It’s probably a fair assumption that everyone in the room has been arrested at least once. It’s beyond doubt that they’ve all done enough illegal things to get 25 to life. Still, they’re all sitting around the table, planning and preparing for yet more illegal activities. That doesn’t happen without help on the inside, and Lindsay’s in charge of making sure that help remains stable, paid, and aware of quickly they’ll find a bullet in their brain if they choose to betray the crew. Apparently, some of the higher ups on the force use this particular bank to store money of questionable origins, which means a shit ton of non sequential bills that they won’t be able to track down once someone in the crew called Trevor runs it through their redistribution scheme.

Gavin is a technology expert. He follows up Meg’s explanation of the bank with a more in-depth description of the security system, which segways into the crew’s call for a sniper of Ray’s caliber. There’s a single external control box that must be hit from very far away, and it’s barely the size of a post card. Ray doesn’t follow exactly why the shot must be made at such a distance, but when Geoff asks him if he thinks he can make the shot and all of the eyes in the room fall on him, he finds himself nodding, smirking.

“Of course.” And it’s not a lie, not an exaggeration. He’ll need to make a shot through two chain link fences from a building five hundred yards away. Honestly, that doesn’t even sound all that difficult to him anymore. Maybe, when he was younger and less certain of himself, he would shy away from such a responsibility; now, he’s sure there’s nothing but confidence in his expression and in his reply.

The room seems satisfied with this response, and the meeting moves on. But Ryan does not turn his head back to the front of the room. Ray watches in his peripheries as Ryan watches him right back, and he wishes for about the tenth time in as many minutes that he could see his face. All he has to go off of is body language, and Ryan is giving nothing away. Since sitting, he has relaxed, set his hands in a neat fold on the table, and watched quietly without giving away a single emotion. It’s endlessly frustrating, but Ray makes himself ignore Ryan and pay attention to the meeting.

Once he has done his job of hitting the security panel, Gavin will judge that the system is down, and then him, Geoff, Jeremy, and Ryan, all led by Michael, will enter the bank and blow the safe. They’ll pick up as much cash as they can carry,  then head out in three groups to escape, splitting the load evenly between two of the groups. Geoff and Gavin will take one flashy sports car (to be acquired at some point before the heist begins and deposited in the bank parking lot) with half of the cash. Jeremy and Michael will take a plain middle class sedan with the other half. Ryan will take a motorcycle back to where Ray is sitting on the rooftop, covering them from the cops while they escape, and grab him before heading out. They’ll take indirect routes to ditch the heat before reconvening north, out of city limits, at an abandoned lot where Jack will be waiting with a chopper. They’ll ditch the cars, load up the cash, and fly in style back to the base, spoils in hand.

It’s a sound plan; with the cops split up chasing after the money in the two cars, Ryan’s escape should go by with less notice, which is imperative given the lack of cover provided by a motorcycle. He has to have something small enough to fit in the alley between buildings that Ray will take the fire escape down to. Of course, this means Ray will be riding on the back of a bike that Ryan is driving. Physical closeness and general reliance on one another to not get them both killed will be serious factors here. Ray wonders if Geoff is doing this on purpose, to spite Ryan. Or to test Ray? Or maybe he just thinks himself a matchmaker. Well, Ray hopes it’s not that last one, because some mystical force pretty much did all of the work on that end when it inked their mutual first words into their forearms. Taking credit for matching up two soulmates would just be kind of sad.

Geoff announces that the heist is projected to take place a week from today. Ray decides during his motivational speech to the main circle that he will have to confront Ryan about his surliness before this happens. And, hell, there’s no time like the present, right? That, and Ray accidentally let his DS die when he forgot to plug it in last night, so he has some time to kill before it’ll be functional again.

The group is dismissed. Matt and Kdin are instantly on their feet and rushing out the door, probably already late for a meeting at another base, or something. Geoff and Jack stand at the head of the room talking. Michael and Gavin are watching something on Gavin’s cracked phone. Meg and Lindsay are having another animated (hah) discussion about cartoons. Which leaves Ryan, who stands and starts making his way out of the room. Ray stays a pace behind him, then catches his arm as soon as the door swings solidly shut behind them. He pauses for just a moment to listen for signs of Kdin and Matt (As expected, he doesn’t hear them- they’ve already scurried off somewhere), to make sure they’re alone-ish.

Ryan is staring at him again, but at least this time he has a good reason to. Ray releases his arm and rubs at his own instead. “Listen, dude. I know we had kind of a shitty start, but like… We’re supposed to be soulmates, right? So, can we, like, start over, or something dumb and cliche enough like that to make things better?”

Ryan doesn’t respond. Ray decides to start counting the seconds between the end of his questions and the beginning of Ryan’s answers.

“We’re coworkers, Ray.” His stomach does a funny drop. “How about we act like it?”

Ryan makes it three steps toward his room before Ray formulates his response. “Our boss is fucking our other boss. And, from what I understand, everyone here seems to be fucking someone else who also works for Geoff. That argument doesn’t exactly work in this context, dude.”

Seven seconds later comes Ryan’s response. “I guess we’ll just have to set the proper standard, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha that was fast it's 4 AM  
> Please keep yelling at me. It is honestly the greatest form of encouragement.
> 
>  
> 
> ...That, or tell me what you liked, what you didn't, if you saw an error, if you ate spaghetti today, how many dogs you've seen this week, etc. I just love comments, okay? Don't judge me.


	3. Chapter 3

Ray is plummeting. Some criminals think themselves gods, but he knows better; gravity will reach up and pluck him from the air, send him to the nearest surface strong enough to bear his weight- just like anyone who finds the surface beneath them gone- and, if he’s gained enough speed, he’ll go  _ splat. _ Will this fall kill him? Perhaps, if he isn’t careful in his landing. But it isn’t the fall that poses the greatest risk to him; it’s what’s waiting for him on the ground.

Maybe death is coming. Maybe not. That’s how things go, in this business. But while he’s got some time, Ray supposes he should reflect on how he got here.

 

\---

 

Ray doesn’t see Ryan for longer than the time it takes him to flee whatever room he has just entered until five days later- two days before the heist. They have another meeting but this time in the smaller room where Ray first went with Geoff. The table is round and spread on its glossy surface is a single map detailing the floorplan and security details of the bank.

They go through the plan a few more times, with each crew member verbally describing their role until Geoff is satisfied that they know it well enough. It’s the most Ray’s ever heard Ryan say in one sitting. Ryan has the barest hint of a southern accent in his tone, his inflections. The way his voice breaks and smooths and drips of honey makes Ray certain that he will be hearing more from Ryan in the future, regardless of his will to be a whiny bitch about nothing.

They break for lunch. Ray accepts a hot mystery tube wrapped in foil from a nervous guy and watches carefully as Ryan does the same. Watching the bedroom door swing shut, Ray is hit with the urge to follow Ryan into his room and confront him, but ultimately decides against it; the guy is going to be the key to Ray escaping the feds, so he should probably wait until after the heist to piss him off- More than he already has, anyway. 

The tube turns out to be a burrito and he digs in, but it goes like sand in his mouth and be gives up halfway through. “What’s up?” Michael asks through a mouthful of taco. It’s just him, Ray, and Gavin at the dining room table. “Taste bad?”

“Nah,” Ray replies. “I’m not too hungry.”

“You’re always hungry, X-Ray.” Gavin at least covers his mouth while he talks through his quesadilla. And damn him for being so observant, because he has a point. Every time food is placed in front of Ray, he wolfs it down until there’s nothing left. It’s half his love for all thingy tasty, and half the lingering fingers of starvation creeping on his back from spending his childhood on the streets of NYC.

“I guess I’m nervous.” That’s not technically a lie, but Ray knows Gavin will take him to mean about the heist, and not about Ryan.

Gavin gives him a funny look but doesn’t press the issue. That’s kind of weird. If Ray’s learned anything over the past five days, it’s that Gavin Free simply does not know when to quit; he had to fork over a hundred bucks to Jeremy the other night when he challenged him to a drinking contest. Gavin was already tipsy and seemed to be running on the logic that Jeremy is physically smaller, so he has to be a lighter weight, right? Wrong. Gavin got a nasty hangover and put himself a hundred bucks in the hole for his troubles.

But he doesn’t pry now, like he did on the first night about Ray’s words.

The lunch break comes to an end and it doesn’t come up again.

 

\---

 

It’s the day of the heist, and Ray can’t decide if he’s nervous, excited, or sick. Jack keeps hovering over him at the dining room table and asking if he’s feeling okay, if he needs something to calm his nerves. After the third prompting, Ray walks off to the first open door he comes across and shuts it behind himself.

It’s a bedroom. Plain, but with slightly more decoration than Ray’s guest room; there’s a flat screen on the wall, a small table and chairs pushed in the corner, a framed picture of a cow grazing in a field hanging on the wall above the bed. He’s definitely intruding on someone’s space. He should leave.

Ray sits on the bed and takes in the pleasant aroma filling the air. It’s a subtle hint of cologne and warmth that instantly sets all of his fraying nerves at ease. He wonders whose room this is. Geoff and Jack would surely have more adornments and furniture- not to mention this room is the same size as Ray’s and thus can’t be the master. It’s immaculate, without a single stray article of clothing or forgotten wrapper. The trash can is completely barren, too. So that rules out Michael and Gavin. It’s not Meg and Lindsay’s room; they’re next door to Ray, and he has invested in noise cancelling headphones to deal with this. That really only leaves Jeremy and Ryan. Geoff explained that the secondary team and other members of the crew live  in their own apartments around the city or in another base. It’s a sort of tradition in Fake AH for people to stay in big groups like this, for some reason. That’s how Ray finds out that his guest room could just be his room, period- But he has other hopes in that regard.

Ray allows himself another half a minute to soak in this scent before forcing himself up onto his feet and out the door. He returns instead to his own room and changes into the black outfit he’ll be wearing during the heist. His job is to blend in, which means he must leave his trademark purple hoodie laying in a pile on the floor. He at least knows how to move with his rifle to conceal it. Geoff has allowed him to keep the bright pink color for this job. Ray regards himself in the full length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. The jacket is loose on him. Makes him look skinny and small, and for a moment, he sees the fifteen year old covered in grime and shivering as he makes his way through the marketplace, stealing produce and bread from all of the new vendors who don’t know how to keep an eye on their product.

It takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and regain a firm grasp on the present. Those days are over. After this heist, he won’t have to work again probably  _ ever. _ His takes before weren’t small, but he wasn’t one for giving up luxuries once he had a taste of them, so he had to keep up on the contracts to ensure he didn’t have to. Ray’s sure that Geoff and the rest of the main circle could retire today and continue living this lavish life until the day of their deaths, and still have a multi-million inheritance to pass around. He doesn't wonder long why they keep risking their lives when they don’t absolutely have to. It’s something he can relate to. On cue, his fingers twitch against his thigh.

Michael knocks on his door.

It’s time to go.

 

\---

 

It’s fucking cold on the rooftop. Aside from the meager cover provided by AC units, there’s nothing to protect him from the icy 2 AM wind blowing through town and chilling its residents to the bones. He hugs his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders and rubs his hands together to bring circulation back up. Can’t afford a moment of hesitance.

From behind his scope, Ray relaxes and settles into his element. This is what he does, what he’s  _ good  _ at. This is what Geoff hired him for. There are a few security lights scattered around, but for the most part, the bank is swathed in shadows; his only clue to the whereabouts of the security panel is a very faint glowing outline of light from behind the cover. Ray has to adjust his position twice to make up for the obstruction of the fences, and then he’s trained on his target and ready to fire. He switches on the mic of his comm.

“This is Brownman. I’m in position and aim is taken.”

“Good. Team Always Funny in position.” Geoff replies.

“Little Britain in position.” Gavin adds a moment later.

There’s a crackle of static, and then Jack checks in. “Beardo is in position.”

“Vagabond ready.”

“Excellent,” Geoff says. “Let’s heist, boys. Brownman, take your shot.”

Ray finds himself smiling as he double, triple checks his sights, and squeezes the trigger. The security panel shatters and sprays sparks violently into the air.

After a few tense seconds, Gavin gives the all clear, and Ray watches the five of them take out the two security guards through his scope. In a matter of moments, they’re at the door, and then they’re swallowed by the darkness once more.

Ray turns his attention to listening and watching for signs of the heat approaching. This area isn’t  _ super _ nice, so the gunshot won’t immediately be reported, but they have no more than ten minutes before police come in droves to protect their dirty money. With one ear, he tracks the rustling of leaves and traffic for anything out of place. With the other, he half listens to the chatter on the comms, which is mostly Gavin squawking at Michael for stepping on his foot.

“Okay, that’s three vaults done. How’s it looking out there, Brownman?” Geoff asks.

Ray surveys the horizon and almost gives the all clear, but stops himself when he catches something in his peripherals. Sure enough, there’s a steady flashing in the distance, growing brighter with each moment. It’s accompanied by the oh-so-faint call of police sirens.

“Heat’s coming in. ETA two minutes. Time to bail,” he says.

“Copy. Vagabond, go. Teams Always Funny and Little Britain, proceed to vehicles. Check back in five.”

Ray takes out the driver of the first cruiser, sending it skidding into a telephone pole. He hits the front tire and something in the engine on the second and the occupants are sent leaping from the vehicle as it is quickly swallowed by flames. He spots Ryan at the side of the building, heading for his bike, and takes out one of the second car’s officers to help cover his escape. Three more cars pull up as the second one finally explodes, and there is chaos; Ray takes shots at torsos and legs while keeping a watch on Ryan slipping through the din. More gunfire starts up on the other side of the building. That’ll be Geoff and the others firing their way to their cars with the cash in hand. Or rather, in duffels. Under the cover of the darkness and the confusion of the explosion and new gunfire, Ryan slips out of the parking lot and starts heading in Ray’s direction.

He swings his rifle up and secures the strap around his shoulder, pulls his beanie down, throws his hood up, and heads for the fire escape. The building is four stories tall and he makes it to the landing between the second and third when he realizes something is wrong. Both ends of the alley are supposed to be clear, and they  _ were _ when Ray checked them earlier- But now, their escape route is blocked by what appears to be a large dumpster. Someone must have moved it there after he climbed up.

Ryan pulls up and quickly gets off of the bike with only a shout at Ray to come help him move the dumpster. Going back the way he came isn’t an option unless they want to draw attention that they aren’t likely to be able to shake, so he makes to continue down. But something holds him in place. It’s a flicker in the dark, a stray footstep that he can’t place. Ray’s got his rifle trained on the officer’s head and fires within two seconds.

But the rifle just clicks. Empty. The officer is striding toward Ryan, gun raised, and Ray knows that he doesn’t have time to reload or even to shout warning.

His soulmate is about to die before he ever had a chance to get to know him for real.

Instinct takes over. Ray hops the rail and begins a twenty-five foot freefall.

 

\---

 

So, he’s back to falling, but not for long. Ray hits the officer dead on, feet-first, and sends them both smashing into the ground. Even with the man to break his fall, something has not landed right; there’s a snapping sensation in his left ankle, and then a fiery pain spreads all up his leg. No time to deal with it, though. The officer is shoving Ray off of him, scrambling for his gun.

Ray scrabbles up and punches the man in the face. He reels back and Ray makes to follow through with another hit to his stomach, but he thoughtlessly takes a step with his left leg. It buckles and he eats pavement.

Halfway into a kneel, a foot collides hard with his side, sending him back to the ground, and then again with his head.  A fist connects with his jaw and stars burst in his vision. The man’s  arm wraps tightly around his neck and drags him into a chokehold and he can’t breathe, oh god, he can’t breathe. He should break the hold. He should pull the knife from his belt and stab the man’s leg. He should do  _ fucking anything _ to free himself, but his mind is foggy with primal panic and his head is ringing from the kick and  instead he stares desperately forward, praying for some miracle to stop his life from ending today.

A miracle comes. The man is dragged violently off of him and Ray greedily sucks in lungful after lungful of air that’s so cold it feels like it’s cutting his lungs, but he breathes it anyway. The spots clear from his vision and the pain in his leg returns with a vengeance, but with it comes his clarity of mind. It was not a miracle, but  _ Ryan _ who came to his rescue. The hot liquid spraying Ray’s face is the blood shooting from the artery in the man’s neck that Ryan just cut open.

A warm hand grips his arm and drags him back to his feet and Ray cannot stifle the cry of pain. “Think I broke my ankle,” he hisses through his teeth as a wave of nausea threatens his dinner.

Ryan swears, then wraps an arm around Ray’s shoulders and bears just about all of his weight as he hobbles to where the bike is resting in front of the almost-cleared dumpster.

“Get on, put your helmet on,” Ryan is saying, and Ray obeys to the best of his ability while Ryan finishes shoving the obstacle out of the way. Then he practically jumps onto the bike in front of Ray, presses a pistol into his hands, and they’re flying off onto the street.

Every jostle to his leg starts a fresh wave of agony and he wants so badly to disassociate himself from the pain and just grip Ryan’s middle until they’re somewhere safe and warm, but he was given a gun so that must mean there is still danger. He can’t keep them safe if he checks out mentally. Ray grits his teeth and reorients himself so that he’s mostly turned sideways, with one arm hooked firmly on Ryan, and the other holding the gun up to fire behind them. Even this simple movement makes a cold sweat break out on his skin. His vision blurs and doubles for a moment and Ray wonders if he’s about to pass out and fall off of the bike; at this speed, the fall would surely kill him, helmet be damned. But the distortion passes and he’s able to focus on the two cars chasing them through traffic. They must have followed Ryan into the alley, but Ray didn’t see them because he was already on the fire escape by that point.

He fires shakily at one car’s tires until he manages to hit one and it swerves off the road and into a tree. The other is not deterred by this, and continues to shred after them, sirens wailing. Ray swallows a thick glob of saliva and empties his clip in hopes of hitting the driver. He cracks the windshield, thinks he might have hit the passenger seat rider, but the car keeps right on their heels and a moment later they’re returning fire.

Ryan shouts at him to hold on. Ray barely gets his icy fingers around him in time to avoid being flung into the air as Ryan takes a sharp right onto a side street leading into a housing development. The cruiser flies right by behind them. Thing probably has a shit turn radius. Still, it’ll be back on them in seconds. Ryan zips down residential streets, taking turn after turn and making Ray impossibly dizzy.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when the bike halts and Ryan half drags, half carries Ray into the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car with a very broken driver side window. He buckles in and tries to grip the leather upholstery. His hands slip and slide against it. They must be bloody. Whose blood? Ray doesn’t know, and he sure as fuck isn’t about to check.

“We ran into trouble, but we’re both alive. Switched cars, heading to the rendezvous point.” Ryan’s talking to no one. Then Ray realizes that his earpiece has been awfully quiet and when he reaches for it, it’s gone entirely. Must have been knocked out during the scuffle with the cop. He can only imagine the stream of expletives Geoff had to have been sending their way while they failed to check in.

It’s probably for the better that he can’t hear right now, anyway; he’s tired and in pain and wants nothing more than to sink into the seat and shut his eyes.

“Ray!” Ryan’s shouting. What? Was he calling his name? “Ray, do not fucking sleep. Stay awake. Do not go to sleep.”

“‘M tired,” he replies.

“Stay. Awake.” Then there’s a hand on one of his own, and he grabs it back. “Yes, that’s right. Hold on to my hand. Don’t let go, don’t relax your grip.” Ryan says some more things, but Ray doesn’t think they’re addressed to him, so he tunes them out. Things about  _ Get Caleb _ and  _ Kicked his head _ and  _ Concussed _ .

Dutifully, Ray squeezes Ryan’s hand until he tries to pull away. Ray grips harder, and then he’s wrenched backward, out of the car, away from Ryan. He tries to fight the hands on his arms and sides but he’s so tired, and he feels weak from staying awake So he lets his eyes drift shut.

 

\---

 

He comes to in the guest room of Geoff’s apartment.

The world is dim and foggy and it takes a monumental effort to focus it. Ray realizes that his glasses are missing from his face. That would certainly contribute to the problem. He tries to grope the nightstand with his left hand but a strange tug in his arm makes him pause. There’s an IV inserted in his forearm with clear fluid flowing through it. More carefully, he retrieves his glasses and starts assessing his situation.

He’s wearing a thin hospital gown under the blankets. An IV stand is next to his bed. The curtains are pushed back and daylight floods the room. There are a couple of chairs around the room, and one of them is occupied by a snoring Jeremy. Ray glances around for his phone, and finds it plugged in on the other nightstand with a sticky note on the screen.

_ ‘Ray: wake up whoever is in the room with you when you see this. -Jack’ _

“Lil J,” Ray calls. His voice is hoarse and scratchy and his volume is subpar at best, but Jeremy starts and flies out of the chair.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes fall on Ray. “Oh, shit, you’re awake! Hang on, I have to go call Geoff.” And he’s out the door before Ray can call after him and ask for an explanation.

Less than a minute later, Jeremy returns with a man in doctor’s scrubs with dark hair, followed closely by Geoff.

“Ray, my name is Caleb.” The doctor says. “I’m going to check your vitals and run some quick tests, and then Geoff can explain what happened.”

He doubts he has any say in the matter, but Ray nods his consent anyway. Caleb checks his heart, pulls up his gown to look at his chest- and damn, there’s an ugly bruise the size of an orange blooming across his ribs- shines a light in his eyes, has him follow his finger, and switches out the IV bag with something stashed in a cooler tucked in the closet. Caleb scribbles on a clipboard for a few seconds, looks Ray up and down once more, then hums and exits the room without another word. He can’t help but feel like a specimen being observed under a microscope and Ray feels secretly relieved to have Caleb gone.

And then Geoff is upon him, and that relief goes right out the window.

“What in the fucking hell were you  _ thinking _ , Ray?”

“I don’t…” Ray bites his lower lip. His index finger  _ tap, tap, taps _ on the bedspread. “I’m not sure what you’re mad about.”

“I’m not-” Geoff cuts himself off, takes a deep breath through his nose. Scrubs his face with his hand. “I’m not mad. You fell three stories and damn near got choked out before Ryan could get to you.”

_ Two and a half _ , Ray wants to correct.  _ Ah, fuck it _ . “It was only two and a half.”

Geoff smiles humorlessly. “You’ve got a decent concussion, buddy. We thought you and Ryan were dead for about twenty minutes.”

Ray shrugs. The tapping spreads to his middle and ring fingers. Something catches in his mind and he holds his left hand up and stares at it. The light spills through his fingers and makes his skin seem so much paler and he remembers with a start why this hand is important. It’s the hand he was holding Ryan’s with. Ryan! “Where is he? Ryan, I mean.” Ray tries to keep his tone level, but his voice is wrecked enough that any shaking could be dismissed under injury.

Jeremy, still by the door, clears his throat. “Should I go get him?”

Geoff doesn’t reply for a moment and Ray wonders if he’s about to say no, but then he nods and Jeremy takes off.

“Ryan’s going to want to talk to you alone, so let’s make a deal right now before he kicks me out. Never do anything that fucking stupid again.”

“I’m not fired?” Ray feels his cheeks redden as Geoff bursts out laughing in response.

“Of fucking course not. If you were fired, we wouldn’t be paying out the ass for fancy drugs to take care of your pain and help your concussion heal faster, dummy.” He ruffles Ray’s hair and stands as Ryan materializes in the doorway. “All yours, Haywood.” Geoff shuts the door on his way out. And then Ray’s alone with Ryan in his room, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only 2:30 AM this time, so I guess that's an improvement?  
> Next chapter will have less action and more... Well, Raywood. I mean, that's what you guys came here for, right?  
> As usual, please leave me a comment! Even if you only have two words to say, I guarantee that every comment means a ton to me and helps encourage me to keep writing more. Seriously, I don't care if all you want to do is tell me your favorite prime number.
> 
> (Mine is 17.)


	4. Chapter 4

“Are we gonna talk, or are you just planning on sitting and staring at me?”

Ray wonders if Ryan is rolling his eyes behind the mask. “We’re gonna talk.”

But Ryan isn’t talking. Ray decides to use this time to take inventory of his injuries. His head is much less foggy than it was on the motorcycle and in the car, but he still isn’t feeling completely with it; maybe that’s why he decides that it’s a great idea to kick off the blankets so he can inspect his ankle. Dull pain flares up his leg and he hisses through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t do that.” Ryan says.

“I wanna see,” Ray replies. Ryan stands and pulls the blankets back.

His left foot is wrapped in one of those hard casts that reaches up to a couple inches from his knee, and only his toes peek out.

“You shattered your ankle and broke three bones in your foot. They had to do emergency surgery to reconstruct everything.”

“Oh.” Ray stares at the cast. It’s bright pink and has already been signed by multiple people, but he can’t read them from this angle. “What are the signatures?”

“You want me to read them to you?” Ray thinks it’s more of a question than an offer, but he grins and nods. Ryan scoots the chair over and leans in to read. “Okay, this one’s from Gavin. It says ‘Fire escapes are for climbing down, not jumping off of, X-Ray.’ Then he drew a heart and wrote ‘Vav’.”

“Vav?”

“Well, he crossed out the V and wrote in a G.”

Ray smiles. “Nice.”

Ryan reads him messages from the other member of the crew. Meg and Lindsay contributed multiple shitty drawings of pokemon and puns about getting better. Michael posited that he broke his foot because gay people are more dense than straight people, so he fell faster. Geoff drew several anatomically incorrect penises. Jack called him a dumbass, which Jeremy accentuated with several adjectives.

“So you’re definitely not just visiting to read my cast to me,” Ray says. He’s been waiting to have a real conversation with Ryan for six goddamn days now. Or… How long was he asleep? His bruise is developed enough to suggest a couple of days at least have passed since the heist. He’ll have to ask about that at some point.

“No, I’m not.” Ryan replies. He moves his chair back to its original position and shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the back. Under the leather is a fitted black t-shirt and expanse of fantastically defined muscles. Tucked among some scars that look like they came from knife wounds are a string of words the color of snow. Ryan settles back into the seat. “I’m here because we need to talk about what you did.”

“What about it?” Ray notes that Ryan sounds kind of pissed and tries to keep his reply calm.

“Why?” Ray wishes more than anything that Ryan would pull his mask off and reveal the precious details of his face, of his emotions. But Ryan just crosses his arms and does what he always fucking does. He stares.

“Why did I save your life?” Ray repeats. He can’t help the incredulous tone that seeps into his words. “Because you’re part of my crew now.”

Ryan shifts his right arm so his words are showing. “Because I’m part of Fake AH, or because of this?”

“Well, I mean…” Ryan is clearly looking for something here. Ray needs to figure out what it is, or he could really fuck up this relationship before it even has a chance to hatch from the fucking egg, let alone take that first trust fall out of the nest. “Both?”

Ryan’s arm drops into his lap. “I see.” He starts to stand, but Ray’s hand darts out and finds his wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “Stay. Please. I didn’t mean that.”

To Ryan’s credit, he sits back down. It takes six seconds of consideration, but he stays, and that’s all Ray can ask for.

He tries hard to think back to everything he knows about Ryan. There has to be a clue hidden in there, somewhere! Ryan’s not shy, that’s for damn sure. He walked right up to Ray and ripped the can out of his hand on that first night, and apparently felt justified in doing so. And what did he do when he found out Ray was his soulmate?

He disappeared for an hour.

Once he came back, he had clearly worked out his feelings about what to do as far as Ray went. But he didn’t bother trying to hide that his words matched up, in spite of his later avoidance and apparent irritation at everything Ray did. Maybe he knew Ray would figure it out eventually, and just wasn’t bothering with stalling? At breakfast the next morning, Meg had told Ray that Ryan was throwing a tantrum. And when Ray spoke to him after the meeting, it was like he shut down the second Ray mentioned the soulmates thing.

The pieces start to click in little ways that have Ray certain of his answer as he says it.

“Ryan, I didn’t save you because I think fate is forcing us to be together. I did it because you seem like a cool enough dude, and Geoff trusts you, so I trust you, too.”

“You trust me, huh?” Ryan crosses his arms. The motion disconnects his wrist from Ray’s hand. “That doesn’t seem like a smart move on your part.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the truth.”

“Trust is a killer in this business. You have to know that by now, for how long you’ve been in the game. That, or you’re just stupidly lucky.”

A flash of irritation laces through Ray. “Of course I fucking know that. This isn’t me handing my knife to some rando on the street and turning my back.”

“What is it, then?”

Ray doesn’t have an answer for him. He tries to think of one, but the window of time that his answer would be acceptable passes, and Ryan sighs.

“That’s what I thought.” He stands and stretches his arms. Ray is almost too uncertain and upset to enjoy the view. Almost. “Look, Ray. I’ll admit that I was being petty before. But I’m not interested in placing blind trust in some kid Geoff scraped off the streets just because some mystical force tells me he’s my soulmate.”

“That’s fine.” Ray replies. “You don’t have to trust me because I’m your soulmate. But I need to make you trust me on your own, and I can’t do that if you’re constantly avoiding me or spraying vinegar.”

“...Spraying vinegar?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice.

“You know, being salty.” Ryan remains silent. “Acting like an angry douche?” He tries. This one garners the proper reaction.

“Hey, man, you drank my soda and took my spot. I’m not gonna sit and take that.”

Ray rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Well, can you at least promise not to avoid me?”

“That depends on your definition of avoidance.”

“If you would normally be spending time doing some activity and you choose not to because it would mean being around me, then that’s avoiding. I’m not demanding access to your bathroom or eating breaks or whatever.”

Ryan nods. “That seems reasonable.” He grabs his coat. “Get some rest, Ray.”

“You’ll come back?” Ray’s not sure what makes the words come to his lips, but he can’t take them back now.

Luckily for him, Ryan doesn’t take offense. “I’ll come back. Tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Ray cries. “How long have I been out?”

Ryan pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the date. “It’s Friday morning.”

The heist was pulled during the ugly hours of Tuesday morning. He’s been out for _three days._ “Fuck.” He lifts his head and lets it drop back onto the pillow.

Ryan laughs on his way out the door.

 

\---

 

“Ryaaaaan,” Ray whines. “Bring me something to drink.”

“Why can’t you do that yourself?”

“Remember how I fell three stories to save your ass?”

“Oh snap!” Meg shouts.

Ryan grumbles as he stands. “What do you want?”

Ray searches for his eyes in the mask and puts on his most winning smile. “Diet Coke.”

Ryan hands him the can with a harsh noogie for his trouble. Ray protests- he’s gonna lose his first place crown in Mario Kart- but he can’t keep the grin off of his face. In spite of the interruption to his play, Ray still takes the win with a victorious whoop.

“Not fair!” Gavin cries, throwing the wiimote down in his lap.

“How is that not fair?” Ray asks.

“You always win! You must be cheating!”

“Sounds to me like you’re being a sore loser, Gav.” Michael ruffles his hair and leans down from behind the couch to rest his chin on Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin grumbles as he hands his controller off to Geoff, as is standard for non-winners. Meg trades with Lindsay and Jeremy queues up the next round.

“Actually, he kind of has a point.” Ryan says. “If no one can beat Ray, he’ll get to play indefinitely. That hardly seems fair.”

“Hey, if you’ve got a problem, you can take a turn in the ring with the Ray Man.” Ray replies.

“Fuck no. I hate Nintendo.”

“What?!” Geoff cries. The alcohol in his system means he’s even louder than usual. Ray worries about the headache that is surely in his future. Loud places don’t usually bother him, but this fuckin’ concussion is seriously blowing up tiny things and harshing his vibe.

Geoff leaps up from his seat, stomps uncertainly over to Ryan, and thrusts his controller into his hands. “Geoff. I just said I don’t want to play.”

“It’s an injustice and it must be corrected!” Geoff shouts back.

“We’re professional criminals. We literally robbed a bank two weeks ago. I don’t quite see why you’re so concerned with justice.”

Geoff stares at him for a moment, then continues shoving the controller into his chest. “Play Nintendo or you’re fired.”

It’s a hollow threat, of course, but Ryan sighs and accepts the controller. Geoff grins and returns to his seat- somehow without tripping, which is a goddamn miracle in and of itself. Ray proceeds to completely decimate for two rounds.

“What the- The escalators were going the other way last lap!” Ryan shouts.

“Ryan, please. Let the kind mall staff shake things up.” Ray replies.

“What’s the ‘kill the mall staff’ button?”

“They patched that one out.” Michael replies.

The third race rolls around, and Ray’s still in first, like always. He catches the flash of blue on one of the other corners of the screen indicating that Meg is about to have an advantage. He falls back just enough to let Ryan pass him, then slides to the side as the blue shell decimates Dry Bones. Ryan is oddly nonreactive. Ray wonders if he’s just simmering, but he can’t look until his victory is secure.

Warm. Something big and warm, all up on his left side. It’s Ryan, scooted so close that their arms and legs are pressed together. Then Ryan’s arm is around his shoulders, and he’s being tucked up against his chest. Ray is enclosed in a circle of his arms as Ryan’s hand connects with the wiimote from around him. His instinct is to gasp and _hoo boy there’s a mistake_ because he’s flooded with that sweet scent from Ryan’s room and Ryan is really warm. Like, really, really warm, and his chest? A great pillow. Fantastic. Simply phenomenal.

Whoa, he’s been driving into a wall for, like, ten seconds. Ray furiously tries to catch up, but it’s the last lap and he ends up in pitiful fifth place, behind Ryan, Lindsay, and even _Gavin._ Michael grins as he plucks the controller from Ray’s hands. Ryan ruffles his hair again while he withdraws his arm and scoots back over a couple of inches.

“We’re playing dirty, are we?” Ray knows he’s fucking blushing like a teenager. He resents Ryan in that moment for always wearing the fucking mask, like he’s defined his career by it for the _explicit purpose_ of fucking Ray over in Mario Kart in a way that he can’t return. Or can he? He isn’t drunk- he’s concussed, so drinking is a no-no, but Ray doesn’t ever touch the stuff anyway, so it’s not like it matters- but he feels his inhibitions slide away and in the critical moment before the race starts, when you try to get the speed boost, Ray leans up and kisses Ryan’s cheek over the mask. Dry Bones spins out.

Jack, who is watching from a kitchen stool dragged in from the other room, bursts out laughing. He was apparently the only one who saw his stunt; the others are staring intently at the screen and spare only a confused glance his way.

Ray can see Ryan gripping the wiimote tighter than usual. He smiles. This is his true victory.

 

\---

 

Gavin’s made off with his crutches again. Ray doesn’t really mind it; he’s content to laze out here under the shade of this tree like a summer cliche and trade between watching the clouds and browsing his usual sites on his phone. Having a broken foot/ankle combo is annoying as shit, but at least his concussion and bruised ribs have healed. Jack insists that he leave the apartment for a few hours at least once every other day, but he didn’t have any good errands for Ray to tag along for today, so he piled the main circle (minus Lindsay and Meg, who Ray is told are “taking care of something important”) into two cars and drove to a fucking park.

“Want a sandwich?” Jack holds out something with ham and lettuce with the crusts cut off.

Ray takes it. “Thanks.”

A few dozen yards away, Gavin is attempting to climb a tree. He’s convinced Michael to let him sit on his shoulders to reach the lower limbs, and he seems to be using Ray’s crutches as hooks to help him climb up. Michael backs away the second Gavin gets off of his shoulders, leaving him stranded in the tree. Instead of hopping down, the dumbass keeps climbing.

“He’s going to get stuck and we’re gonna have to call the fucking fire department.” Jeremy muses.

“Don’t worry,” Ray replies. “We’ll just shake the tree until he lets go. His nose will break his fall.”

Jack chokes on a bite of sandwich. Jeremy laughs heartily. “That was such a sweet fucking burn. I can’t let Gavin not hear that. I’m gonna go tell him.” Jeremy jumps up and sprints to the tree.

He shouts up at Gavin in the tree. Gavin’s indignant squawks carry pretty well.

Ryan and Geoff return from the swings to check on the commotion. There’s an exchange that Ray can’t quite hear, and then Ryan has Geoff on his shoulders and he’s climbing up in the tree after Gavin, who screams and starts scrambling higher. In his panic, the crutches drop. Ryan scoops them up and walks back to the tree where Ray and Jack are resting.

“Oh, sweet, crutches,” Ray says, smiling up at Ryan. “Where’d you get these?”

“I stole them from a ten-year-old.” Ryan replies without missing a beat. He sits cross-legged beside Ray.

“What fucking ten-year-old? All of the good white moms cleared out when we got here.”

“I called in a few favors.”

“Oh? Sexual favors, I hope.”

“Of course.”

“Uh, guys,” Jack points at something to the right. Ray leans forward so he can see past the trunk of the tree. Red and blue flashing lights. “Looks like one of those white moms called to complain.”

Well, they couldn’t be _more_ conspicuous. Seven grown men, one wearing a full head skull mask, another in a tuxedo, and all of them looking like a randomly selected full-body search at the airport. Well, the afternoon was nice while it lasted.

Whichever rookie officer was sent to deal with the complaint might recognize one or more of them and go in for the arrest in hopes of getting out of meter duty, so Geoff decides it’s time to clear out. He communicates this with a shouted, “I’m not bailing out anyone who gets arrested!” As he drops from the tree and sprints for the cars. Ray grabs the trunk and starts to haul himself up, but Ryan puts his hand on his shoulder.

“No matter how lazy the cops are in this area, you’re not going to hobble away in time.” He scoops Ray up bridal style. He is okay with this. “Can you get the crutches?” He asks a now sweat-drenched Jeremy as he sprints up to make sure they heard the news. Jeremy nods and goes to grab them.

Ryan jogs to the cars and deposits Ray in the passenger seat of one, then climbs in the driver’s side. Jeremy and Michael slip into the backseat and Ryan peels out of the shitty little gravel lot.

“What about Gavin?” Jeremy asks.

“He can ride with Jack and Geoff, or he can get arrested.” Michael replies.

Ray turns on the radio and cranks up the shitty new pop song so he can scream along. Jeremy and Michael enthusiastically join him, which comes as no surprise. What does surprise Ray is the quiet tones of Ryan singing along with the chorus.

Back at the garage, Ray senses an opportunity and can’t resist himself. “Ryan,” he whines. “My foot hurts. Carry me inside?” His foot doesn’t hurt. Ryan just smells really good and Ray likes touching him. That’s normal. This is a normal thing for him to do.

He can imagine the raised eyebrow behind the mask, but Ryan nods and lifts him out of the car.

“Michael! You left me behind!” Gavin cries as soon as he makes it through the front door.

“Yep!” Michael cheerily replies.

“Some sodding soulmate you are,” Gavin grumbles.

Ryan sets Ray down on the gaming couch. “That’ll be fifty-five ninety-nine, sir.”

“Oh, didn’t realize you were selling your body now,” Ray says. He pats his pockets loudly. “Shit, I forgot my wallet.” He flutters his eyes up at Ryan. “Is there… Any other way I can pay?”

Ryan pauses, apparently considering this. “Hmm… Nope. Cash only. The men with crowbars will be by to break your knees shortly.” He heads down the hall.

“What, the foot wasn’t enough?!” Ray calls after him.

Ryan laughs as his bedroom door clicks shut.

“When are you two gonna bang?” Michael asks.

Ray chokes on his saliva. He’s still coughing when Geoff answers. “God, I hope it’s soon.”

“Stop the bullying,” Ray wheezes. Gavin plops down beside him on the couch.

“You’ve really got to make your move, X-Ray. Ryan’s a dodgy little ponce when it comes to interpersonal relationships.”

“How is it that you use the phrase ‘interpersonal relationships’ in the same sentence as ‘dodgy little ponce’?”

“He likes to read me an old employee handbook from some family business general store that went out of business in the seventies when he’s mad.” Michael sighs. “I know so much about correct phone call conduct. So. Much.”

“Hey, quit changing the subject,” Geoff says. “I need to know how much longer you two are gonna dance around each other before I go on my booze run.”

“Okay, one, rude. Two, we’re not ‘dancing around each other,’ okay? We’re just hanging out. It’s not my fault if you can’t handle our mad bants.”

“Holy shit. Ray, are you trying to gal pal yourself?” Meg has chosen the best possible time to wander in from the hall.

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?”

“It’s like when two people are clearly in a relationship and the media calls them super good friends. They come up with things like ‘live-in gal pal’ to pretend romantic relationships between women don’t exist.” She perches on the edge of the armchair to Ray’s left. “People used to do that to me and Lindsay all the fucking time.”

“Used to…?”

Meg smiles. “Well, people usually get the message when you-”

“Subject! Stay on it!” Geoff says.

“Right. Why are you trying to pretend there’s not palpable tension between you and Ryan?” Meg asks.

Ray flushes. “Because- Because it’s none of your business,” Ray stammers. He knows this is a lame excuse, so he grabs his DS from the table and buries his face in it.

Geoff sighs very dramatically. “A shit ton of alcohol it is, then.”

 

\---

 

“Fuck me.” Ray moans.

He throws his cards down on the table.

“How are you so fuckin’ good at Go Fish?”

Ryan folds his hands on the table. “That’s a secret.”

“Seriously?” Ray scoffs. “What kind of bullshit did you go through that made keeping how you learned a children’s card game a secret become something necessary?”

Ryan laughs. “Wasn’t much to do, growing up in the south.”

Ray tries not to let it show how pleased he is to learn this piece of information about Ryan. If he makes it a big deal, then Ryan will shut up and not say anything more for at least a week. Little arbitrary things are fine; just last week, Gavin was trying to make a cake, but he had the ratios all wrong. Ryan was correcting him and Ray took notice.

_“You can_ bake _?”_

And then Ryan finished the cake for Gavin, because they were both fascinated by watching him buzz around the kitchen, mixing something in one arm while measuring with the other. Weird, hidden skills that randomly crop up are fine to poke at. But personal information, like where he grew up, or what his past jobs were, or if he has any siblings? Nope. He won’t say a word, and he’ll sit and be surly for at least an hour- and that’s if you’re lucky.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t afford cards when I was a brat, so I have to make up for lost time now.”

“How much time does the average person spend playing Go Fish in their life?” Ryan tilts his head back in the surefire sign that he’s getting lost in thought. “Discounting places where it isn’t played at all, of course. It can’t be more than a day. 24 hours of Go Fish…”

“Ryan. Come back to me, man.”

“D’you reckon there’ll be some kind of end game statistic screen after we die?”

“What?”

“You know, like, when you finish a game, and it tells you how many times you did stuff. Like, in a zombie shooters, how many headshots, or total time spent on fire. Things like that.”

“Yeah, got that. But what do you mean, after we die?”

Ryan adjusts the mask and rests his head on his hand. “Like, after you die, instead of there being  heaven or hell, you just look up random things and find out statistics about it. _How many times did I change a lightbulb_ , or _How long did I spend driving_ , stuff like that.”

Ray thinks he understands, but he is still very confused about how the conversation got here. “I don’t know. That would be pretty cool to see, I guess?”

“There are so many possible applications of such a thing,” he says. “But I suppose it would be pretty inconvenient if you could only access it after death.”

“What would you look up first?” Ray asks.

Ryan is quiet for a moment. Ray begins to fear that he’s overstepped the line when Ryan finally replies. “I want to know how many times I’ve looked at a computer screen.”

The fuck? Okay, that’s not what he was expecting. Ryan’s a fucking weird dude.

“What about you?”

Ray doesn’t have to think long. “Longest shot made.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ve got an estimate, but I didn’t have any way to verify the exact distance because I was kinda young and there were cops up my asshole. I ended up forgetting exactly where I was when I shot him.” Ray remembers that day pretty vividly. His target was a stout man who was cheating on his wife, except he was also a filthy fucking rich businessman or something, so Ray had to get him through a hotel window from really, really far away.

“What’s the estimate?”

“Between 2100 and 2300 yards.”

Ryan hums. “That’s impressive.”

Ray smiles. “It’s potentially record-breaking. Unfortunately, the Guinness people didn’t accept my application.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe we should kill them.”

“But Ryan, who will take the records?”

“You got me there.” Ray loves the way it sounds when Ryan laughs. It’s kind of breathy and almost squeaky compared to his regular voice and the sound of it is like a shot of pure happy to Ray’s heart. At this point, he’s more than addicted. It’s a good thing that he wears a hoodie, or those track marks would start adding up and someone might call him out.

Not that they don’t already, but whatever.

Ryan sweeps Ray’s cards back to his side of the table and starts shuffling them back together and putting them away. Ray does his best to hide his disappointment. Cards night is a regular thing at Geoff’s place, but the others got too smashed (in celebration of some acquisition thing that Ray wasn’t really paying attention to) and had to go to bed, leaving only Ray and Ryan. The latter offered to play two-person games with him. The dining room table seemed comically large for just them; Ryan invited Ray to use the smaller table in his room, and there they are.

Ray doesn’t want to leave. It’s late, but he’s not tired. Another sleepless night spent wondering about soulmate sounds incredibly unappealing while he’s looking at the real thing, right in front of him.

“What’s up with the cow?” He ends up blurting.

Ryan stares at him with his head slightly tilted. Ray has learned that this angle means puzzlement.

“The one in the picture,” He clarifies.

“Oh,” Ryan lets out a short laugh. “That was a gift. The person who gave it to me meant to insult me with it, so I framed it and hung it on my wall. I bring it with me whenever I move into a new place. Helps make it feel more like home.”

Ray understands what he means. His own New York apartments were always sparse at best. Worldly possessions aren’t easy to haul around when you’re on the bottom rungs of crime and have to constantly keep moving to avoid being murdered or arrested. People in big crew like the Fake AH are afforded a much more stable life, but Ray still hasn’t been able to bring himself to decorate his room beyond thumbtacking a picture Gavin drew of him in crayon on the back of a restaurant’s kids menu to the wall. It’s hard to break habits. It’s harder to break habits born from intrinsic mortal peril.

“What kind of insult could a cow possibly convey?”

“That’s kind of a long story.” Ryan finishes packing the cards away and sets them neatly atop his dresser. Ray knows this is his cue to get up, say goodnight, and leave. But he doesn’t want to.

“Shit man, don’t tell me you’re a master of cow husbandry.”

“What? Are you afraid of farm animals?”

“No, but I’m afraid of how much random shit you just happen to know.”

“I can’t help it if I’m versatile, Ray.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ray pushes away his stupid hormonal bullshit and the twenty flirty replies that spring to mind and shoves himself up and out of the chair. The boot is an improvement from the cast, but it’s still heavy and awkward and hard as shit to walk quickly in. He tries to internalize his dejection as he starts his plonk to Ryan’s door.

A hand catches his arm. He stops and looks up at Ryan. In The angle of the light from his table lamp just barely throws illumination on Ryan’s eyes under the mask. Not enough for detail… But enough that Ray can see them at all.

“You turning in?”

Ray shrugs. “Seemed like you were done for the night, so I thought I’d get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair.” Ryan looks away suddenly, like he’s embarrassed. Ray can relate. “You can…” He trails off.

Ray allows himself to hope, if only a tiny bit. This has never happened. He’s only been in Ryan’s room once before, and that was before he got hurt. He’s not sure if letting Ray into his room is some kind of grand gesture from Ryan that he’s just missing, but there’s definitely still a hand wrapped around his arm thirty seconds after he stopped walking.

“Fuck, Ray.” Ryan’s head drops. Ray can see hints of sandy blond hair peeking out from under the bottom on his neck. “I’m gonna be honest. I really want to kiss you right now.”

When Ray fell on the police officer, the breath was knocked from his lungs and he was left paralyzed for a second while his brain tried to figure out what happened. This moment leaves him with a remarkably similar feeling of shock; only, instead of a thirty-five foot fall, it’s eight words.

_I really want to kiss you right now._

God, Ray is _fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in love with this one, but I am very tired. It's 5 am.  
> Thanks to everyone who has commented! It's really helped me to keep writing on this crazy update-every-day schedule.  
> Please write me more comments so that I will finish this thing tomorrow night!


	5. Chapter 5

“Buh?” Ray lets the startled noise escape. Oh, hell no, he’s gonna do better than that. It’s  _ on. _ “I-I, uh… I’m cool with that.” Hell yeah. So cool.

Ryan scratches his neck with his free hand. “I just… I can’t…” He gestures to the mask.

“Oh,” Ray murmurs. “We can turn the lights off. I promise I won’t look.” And as curious as he is, he means that.

Ryan releases him and Ray is terrified for a moment that he has ruined the moment, pushed Ryan past his limit and made things irreparably weird. But Ryan just walks to the lightswitch and flicks it off. Without the overhead light, the lamp casts a dim golden glow and makes everything seem like it’s emerging from the shadows. Ryan materializes next to him.

“Close your eyes.”

Ray obeys, slipping his glasses off and setting them on the table for good measure. Ryan turns off the table lamp and plunges the room into complete darkness. There’s rustling and the sound of rubber folding and hitting itself. A thunk of something set on the table.

Hands land gently on Ray’s hips. He runs his hands up the length of Ryan’s arms and leaves them to rest on his shoulders. The tip of Ryan’s nose brushes against his own. Ray tilts his head a bit, but waits for Ryan to come to him. It’s probably a bad idea to seek out Ryan’s mouth when he can’t see him, anyway; nothing sexy about teeth smacking together or someone getting a nose to the eye.

Ryan finally, finally closes the little gap between them and  _ oh, _ this was so much better than Ray ever imagined. Ryan’s got stubble that scratches pleasantly against him and he seems to instinctively know the perfect pressure to make Ray’s legs threaten to buckle. In no time at all his resolve melts and he presses forward, tangling his hands in Ryan’s hair, deepening the kiss. Ray gasps into Ryan’s mouth when one of his hands slide from his hip to rest on his ass.

“Okay?” Ryan asks against his lips.

Ray wants to open his eyes, to gaze at Ryan without the mask between them and say  _ yes, of course it is _ , but he knows Ryan isn’t ready for that. Not yet. So he nods, and pushes forward. The hand goes from sitting to kneading and if Ray had any blood left for his brain before, he sure doesn’t now. 

Ryan pulls back and Ray is about to complain but then his mouth is on Ray’s neck, and that’s awesome, that’s super. Teeth scraping gently over the spot where his neck meets his shoulder? Great.

Then Ryan slides one of his legs between Ray’s, which results in Ryan’s thigh pressing against his erection and  _ yep that’ll work _ . His breath comes out in a shaky gasp. “ _ Shit, _ Ryan.”

Ryan laughs and he can feel the vibration in his neck. Ryan’s free hand slips under his shirt and rests against the bare skin of his torso, gripping his hip gently but still firm enough that Ray isn’t worried about his legs anymore. Man, this whole not being able to see thing is making every touch ten times more intense in ways that he could never have anticipated; it’s like his brain is making up for the lost sense by amplifying the others to extremes, and Ray kind of loves it. Wow. He had no idea he was this kinky.

Ryan pulls back and returns to his lips. Ray’s kissed a couple of people before this, sure, but he instantly accepts that he must have been doing it wrong, because it never felt this fucking  _ good. _ His entire world is pinned down to the points of contact between them and a comfortable heat is covering his chest and sinking down, down. Ryan’s hair is on the shaggy side, but it’s soft. Fucker must condition. He runs his nails against Ryan’s scalp and revels in the groan he lets out. That noise is just enough to wipe away any restraint Ray had left and he finds himself pressing into Ryan’s leg and clenching his teeth at the friction. Ryan responds by biting Ray’s lower lip and snaking his hand up further on Ray’s torso, to tweak his nipple.

God. Damn.

Ray throws his head back and moans. Ryan’s hand withdraws from under his hoodie and presses flat on his chest, by the zipper. Too stiff. He’s too stiff, now. Body language is changed. Ray anticipates his next move before he can make it.

Ryan separates from him again, this time taking a step back. “We... Should wait.”

“Okay.” He knew it was coming, but it’s still fucking disappointing. Ray almost reflexively opens his eyes but catches himself just in time. “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, god no. It’s just that this is a little…”

“Fast?”

Ryan doesn’t respond. A moment later, the lamp turns on. “You can look. I’m decent.”

He has the mask back on. “I don’t want to rush you or anything. If you’re not comfortable, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that.” Ryan sucks in a breath. “I’m just… You shouldn’t have to do so much to accommodate me.”

Ray reaches for Ryan’s hand and smiles when he takes it without hesitation. “Why do you wear the mask, Ryan?”

He stiffens, but he doesn’t let go. “Trust is a very dangerous thing, Ray.” He steps back again, but pulls Ray along with him. They end up sitting on his bed side by side, hands linked together. Ray can practically feel the tension rippling off of Ryan in thick waves.

So Ray decides it’s his turn to show some trust. “When I was a little kid, my dad would get drunk and beat the shit out of my mom.” It’s not a good story, but it’s his. Ray’s never told anyone about this since he started doing things on his own. No one person knows the whole story. It’s always been safer that way. “One day, she decided she’d had enough, so she hit him back. He broke a bottle on her head and choked her. I hid in the bathroom and called the cops. They arrested him and he was thrown in prison for murdering her, and I got sent to live with my aunt and uncle, except they were both crack heads with no money. So I started skipping school to hang out with some of the kids in my school who mostly stayed on the streets, because if I did shit for them, they would sometimes give me food. When I was twelve, I weighed 86 pounds. I was starving, and no matter how hard my teachers tried, the government wouldn’t move me to a home. One day when I was sixteen one of the street kids gave me a knife and told me to go steal drugs from an older kid in an actual gang. It wasn’t my brightest move, but I went along with it, because one of the guys promised to buy me whatever I wanted from McDonald's. So it was little Ray against the world with a knife to protect himself. Only, the kid had a gun.”

Ray rubs his shoulder with his free hand.

“My oldest scar is a gunshot wound. When my aunt and uncle found out what happened, they freaked the fuck out and kicked me onto the streets, so I started couch surfing or sleeping in the alleys with the other kids. As soon as I was all healed up… I started pickpocketing, and selling whatever shit I got. Once I had enough money, I bought a gun from this dude we called Scrapper, hunted the guy who shot me down, and killed him.”

“Ray…”

“The gang the kid was from decided that I was talented enough to coerce into joining them instead of just killing me, so I started doing armed muggings and assassinations and shit. I wasn’t ever paid. Just given food and somewhere warm enough to sleep. I started getting really good with the guns, so one of the dudes who ran shit set me up with a rifle to do higher profile assassinations. That got me through a few years. Then, uh… Well, some shit happened, and I had to go. So I sold the shit rifle they had me using, bought a bus ticket, and moved from NYC to Boston. There was a dude there who was friends with the gang leader I worked under, so he sold me my rifle for cheap. I killed him and made a name for myself as a sniper. I got cornered one day by some dudes who told me Geoff wanted me for the crew, bought a plane ticket, and… Here I am.”

Ryan listens silently. When Ray finishes, he carefully releases his hand and places it on his shoulder, pressing until he shifts so he’s facing Ryan. His hand moves to Ray’s hoodie zipper and he’s confused, but nods consent and shrugs it off when Ryan finishes unzipping. Then he grips the bottom of Ray’s shirt, and he understands. He lifts his arms very helpfully and lets them drop back down into his lap once the shirt’s off.

Ryan places a hand beside the scar. It’s not that big and pretty faded after six years, but it’s still obvious to anyone who knows the business what happened.

“I have a scar kind of like that, too.” Ryan says. “Well, uh, not really- But, like the beginning of my descent from a wholesome American lifestyle, I suppose.” He pulls off his own jacket and holds out his right forearm to Ray. He wonders if Ryan means his words for only a moment before he notices that the length of the print is set on subtle scar tissue. It’s clearly long healed and so faded that Ray didn’t notice, that day after he was injured- although the concussion could also have something to do with that- but the skin is raised and rough. “I was a computer engineer, before all of this. Had a girlfriend because that’s what was expected of me. She was never really… Stable. We weren’t soulmates. And she would go on tirades about how stupid the whole thing was, and how much she hated the whole idea of the words. One night, she drugged me and tried to get rid of my mark by cutting it out.”

Ray’s left hand goes instinctively to his own words, sitting on normal skin.

“I almost bled out. What’s ridiculous… Is that I stayed. She almost killed me, but everyone I knew acted like it was sweet, or a gesture of  _ love _ . Like what she did was out of affection. Well, joke was on them, because she was arrested for murdering an old boyfriend when new evidence turned up. The night the police came was my last night in Georgia. I used all of my money to move myself to another city, but there weren’t any  _ legal _ jobs in my industry, so I ended up taking money under the table to do what was essentially stealing data from rival companies. Then they needed me to do merc jobs for them, for free- Or they would sell me out to the cops. So I did their dirty work until they actually did sell me out.”

“That’s… Why you wear the mask.”

“Right.” Ryan sighs. “I picked up and left again, invested in good weapons and self defense, and took contracts. I tried trusting people a couple more times and I have the scars to show for it. I stopped letting my guard down, let my reputation become one of close-guarded mystery and intrigue, and then Jack approached me about joining Fake AH. I didn’t like the idea of working with other people again. It took a very long time to convince me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Geoff saved my life.”

Ray takes Ryan’s hand again.

“My side was grazed, I had taken a decent hit to the head, and I was disarmed in a room full of people with guns who really didn’t like me. Instead of running off like any sensible person would, Geoff took out every single one of them, dragged me out, and stitched me up without taking off my mask. I wouldn’t have been able to stop him, but he didn’t do it. He did make me agree to let Caleb take it off to look, but only after he left the room.”

Ray thinks of how Geoff had looked back after the heist in his room, how tired and exasperated he had seemed. For as much shit as he gives all of them, Geoff Ramsey clearly cares for every member for the main circle with all of his soul. It’s a marvel that he’s held on to that aspect of himself in this industry. “Geoff’s a good guy.”

“Yeah.” Ryan rubs the back of Ray’s hand with his thumb. “I want to trust you enough to let you see.”

“I don’t care.” Ray says. “If you don’t want to show me your face, you don’t have to. I don’t mind making out with you in the dark. Although you’re going to have to find something less creepy if we’re gonna bang while you’re wearing that. That, or we’ll have to get one of those sheets that super religious people wear, with the little hole cut in it for the dick.”

Ryan laughs. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“But you’re okay? With planning on this being, like… A thing?”

“Yeah. I’m okay with that. Are you okay with that?”

Ray leans his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “Yep. I’m okay with that.”

 

\---

 

He sits down with a plate of hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, and fried ham to a symphony of whoops and cat calls.

He looks up at the faces staring smugly back at him in utter confusion. It’s too early and he’s too hungry. Not gonna deal with this. Ray chugs half his orange juice and gets to work on the eggs.

“Ryan’s a  _ biter!”  _ Gavin sounds utterly delighted by this piece of information.’Ray stares at him and chews.

Meg clears up his confusion. “Nice hickey, champ.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ray points accusingly at her. “You’ve got no room to talk.”

“Hey.” Meg folds her hands and rests her chin on them, subtley blocking the view of her own collection of bruises. “I  _ own _ my sweet sex life.”

Oh, god, the flashbacks. He goes red. “Do me a favor and invest in some duct tape or a fuckin’ ball gag or something. Anything.  _ Please _ .”

“You could also solve that problem by moving into Ryan’s room,” Lindsay cheerily suggests.

“You guys are fucking terrible.” Ray goes back to his food.

“Is Ryan handsome?” Gavin asks.

“Can I eat now?” Ray says through a mouthful of hashbrowns.

Gavin retches, but Michael is unperturbed by his half-eaten bite. “Nope. Not until you answer our questions.”

Ray swallows and sighs, lamentably setting his fork down and crossing his arms. “I don’t know if Ryan is handsome.”

“Oh, come on!” Meg cries. “That’s the lamest fucking line I’ve ever heard. Don’t act like you can’t tell if someone is attractive or not.”

“I don’t know if he’s attractive because I didn’t see.”

“What are you saying?” Michael asks, patting Gavin on the back as he works through the last of his coughing.

“I’m saying that it was dark and I kept my eyes closed, because I’m a fucking gentleman.”

“What?!” Gavin gasps. “You hooked up with a bloke without knowing what he even looks like?”

Ray shrugs. “It’s not that important.”

“How could that not be bloody important? He could be an uggo, and you wouldn’t even know!”

“Would you have still dated me if I were ugly, Gav?” Michael asks with an unimpressed look.

“Probably not.”

Michael snorts. “No?”

“Well it wasn’t exactly your warm personality that drew me in, love.”

“Those are some big words coming from the guy who got his dick sucked this morning.”

Ray covers his ears and groans while Gavin sputters.

“Hey,” Geoff warns from the kitchen. “Don’t talk about your gross sex lives in my fucking dining room.”

“I thought you wanted to know when me and Ryan were gonna bang.” Ray shoots back. Geoff perks up and practically fucking trots over.

“You  _ shagged  _ him?” Gavin looks positively scandalized. “God, Ray, you’ve got to learn to love yourself!”

Ray shrugs again and picks his fork back up. “I guess I just don’t care that much about looks. And, not that this is any of your business, but we didn’t fuck.”

This launches a large conversation about how important looks are in a potential lover. Jeremy wanders in, then Jack, and they’ve got the whole inner circle- except for Ryan- in on the discussion. Jack, Michael, and Meg stick with Ray on the ‘it doesn’t fucking matter’ train. Gavin and Geoff maintain that looks are incredibly important. Meg and Jeremy sit in the middle, saying that looks aren’t everything, but they still affect some things.

“But is there a difference between knowing your partner is ugly and not knowing what they look like?” Jeremy asks.

“That’s an interesting point,” Jack replies. “I wonder if that discredits any of Ray’s claims that he doesn’t care, since there’s still a chance that Ryan is attractive.”

“Schroedinger’s hunk.” Lindsay helpfully supplies.

“But we already know that he’s fit.” Gavin scratches his head. “Does that stack the odds in Ray’s favor?”

“There’s no way to stack them in my favor because I don’t care about the outcome.” Ray says.

“So you say!” Geoff points at him. “How do we know you aren’t just covering your pettiness? Or,” he gasps. “Maybe you  _ did _ see Ryan’s face, and you’ve sworn to keep it secret!”

“No.” Ray shovels in his last bite of ham.

“Well, there’s no way to verify his claims, so I guess you’ll all just have to take his word for it.”

Ryan’s leaning in the doorway again and Ray is reminded of the night they first met, when he was eating pizza and Gavin was bothering him about his soulmate. And this conversation was started in basically the same way, so he guesses history repeats? Or something lame and cliche like that.

“Ryan!” Gavin squeaks. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Most of it. None of you are quiet.” He strolls to the seat beside Ray and ruffles his hair. Ray flushes at the contact, because apparently he’s a fucking kid beaming under his favorite person’s attention. And the matters? They get worse. Ryan’s hand is resting on Ray’s thigh under the table.

“Well,” Gavin is also flushed. Ray supposes he’s flustered. Gavin takes and gives shit to basically every member of the crew, but he seems hesitant when it comes to Ryan. Ray worked out a couple of weeks ago that Gavin is sort of scared of Ryan. Not in ways that make sense, like  _ oh no this dangerous man could easily shoot me in my sleep if he wanted _ , but more in the way a kid fears his older brother when he knows he’s pushed the annoying behavior too far. “Are you handsome then, Ryan?”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Gavin throws his hands up.

“I’ve been told that I have nice eyes.”

“Aw!” Meg grins. “What color?”

“Blue.”

“Baby blue eyes! That’s so  _ cute! _ ”

“Hey, I said nothing about babies.”

“But do you deny it?” Lindsay asks.

Ryan sighs. “I think they’re more green than that.”

“Well.” Geoff smacks his hand down loudly on the table. “I’m sold. Ryan’s a hottie.”

 

\---

 

Kissing Ryan while having to remember to keep his eyes closed any time they pull apart ended up being quite the task. After two more close calls, Ray asked Michael for suggestions. The answer came in the form of a long strip of dark fabric.

“A blindfold!” Ray grins.

“Really?” He can practically hear the raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. I suck at remembering to keep my eyes shut, and I don’t want to restrict myself to only making out with you at night.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Shut up and put this on me.”

Ray shivers at the feeling of Ryan’s fingers manipulating the fabric behind his head. Damn, okay, he’s definitely developing a kink.

The blindfold comes out every time after that, and Ray is grateful to no longer have to keep track of shutting his eyes. It makes the whole experience a lot better, he thinks. His dick definitely follows that line of logic. But they never go farther than kissing and above the belt touching. Ray’s not sure if Ryan’s just not ready for that, or if it has to do with the mask, or what. But if Ryan doesn’t want to go beyond that, then they won’t. That’s the long and short of it.

The air is particularly heavy one night. Ray’s foot is long healed and they had successfully pulled a seriously huge job a few hours back, so the adrenaline of victory is still rushing triumphantly through their veins. He reaches for the drawer in Ryan’s nightstand where the blindfold is kept- they never do shit in Ray’s room, since he knows for a fact that the walls are thin enough to be heard through, and Ryan’s room has the slight buffer of the main bathroom between him and his neighbors- but Ryan stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“What’s up?” Ray asks.

Ryan fiddles with the hem of his shirt, deliberately not looking at Ray.

“Rye?”

He releases Ray’s arm and slowly brings his hands to the bottom of the mask.

Ray’s breath hitches. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Ryan cuts him off. His hands linger on the edge of the latex. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. And I think that I really want to.”

And all at once, he peels the mask off and tosses it away. Ray is speechless.

Ryan looks sheepish, and Ray can  _ see it _ in the shift of his eyes, the way his lip curls a bit. “I hope I’m not actually super ugly.”

“No!” Ray cries, and the floodgates open. “Dude, you are super fucking hot. Like, I can’t… I don’t have words because you’re so goddamn attractive that my brain is busy trying to memorize every detail of your face.”

Ryan laughs and  _ oh, _ the way his eyes crinkle is so fucking lovely that Ray cannot physically stop himself from pulling him in for a kiss. And when they separate, he rests their foreheads together and gazes into Ryan’s eyes, soaking in their color. Ray pulls back again just so he can continue to look at his face. A blush is creeping onto his cheeks. It’s so fucking cute and Ray does not know what to do with himself.

“You’re uh, kinda creeping me out.” Ryan says.

Ray giggles and covers his eyes, then pulls his hands away because  _ no, Ryan’s beautiful face is here, absolutely no missing out on this. _ Ryan reaches up to gently cup Ray’s cheek and he realizes that Ryan has a whole entire body that Ray hasn’t seen out of clothing yet, and that must be corrected immediately. He orders Ryan to take his shirt off.

“Bossy.” But he complies. Ray runs his hands up and down Ryan’s chest and watches the way it moves when he breathes. He looks for all of the scars and runs his fingers over them and kisses the ones that look new. He demands to repeat this process on his back and Ryan complies, and the only noise he makes is a contented sigh as Ray nuzzles against his skin.

The noises that he thought were hot already are infinitely more so when they’re matched up with a shift in his facial features. The way his eyebrows scrunch together when he concentrates, or how he grins when Ray calls him a  _ DILF _ , or the little lines next to his eyes when he laughs- Ray loves all of it. And Ryan’s orgasm face? Fucking incredible.

He must have an air of having been well fucked the next morning, because Meg keeps raising her eyebrows and Jeremy is smirking like nobody’s business.

Jack looks him up and down once, glances at Gavin, who is barely containing himself, and walks out of the room without a word.

“Did he leave the mask on?” Gavin finally pops and the tension in the room dissipates when they’re all united against a common enemy.

“Gavin!” Meg smacks his arm.

“Oh, like you don’t want to know!” She doesn’t deny it, but Ray decides that he wants to keep last night as his own secret, for now.

“Nope. He went with a full body gimp suit.”

 

\---

 

Ryan’s got a death grip on his hand. It’s not his dominant, so Ray doesn’t say anything. He seems like he needs the support.

Everyone is looking up at him expectantly. He interrupted the end of the heist meeting to do this. Ray had asked if he would rather do it little by little rather than in front of everyone at once, but Ryan had insisted on doing it this way- something about not wanting to lose his nerve.

He doesn’t preface it in any way. Just yanks the mask off and squeezes hard enough to cut off the little remaining circulation in Ray’s fingers.

After Gavin’s astoundingly loud gasp, it’s dead quiet for several seconds.

And then Geoff stands forcefully and points at Ryan. “You!” He’s shouting so loud that his voice cracks. “You’re a fucking  _ golden god! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being a day late. I was awake for 33 hours yesterday and the day before, so I needed to take a day to reset my sleep schedule and chill. Then I hated the beginning of this chapter and had to rewrite it five times. Even now, I'm not super sure about it, but it's good enough and I'm tired.  
> Anyway...  
> This crazy thing is done! And to think I didn't even have an outline when I posted the first chapter. I decided I liked the story enough to coerce myself into finishing it, so I posted the first chapter so I wouldn't have an excuse to let it gather dust in my Google Docs. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, especially to those who left kudos, and super especially to those who commented! I really doubt I would ever have finished this in such a short period of time without the motivation I got from all of you. Seriously, you guys are the bee's knees.  
> See ya guys next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been great at updating at a steady pace. Help me out by commenting and telling me to get my ass in gear!


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